THOM DONOVAN
Black Garden Wall III | For Ozu | from Ing Ear

Black Garden Wall III

IT IS A SNUG DARK WE SEE PRINT TO FIT TOYED-WITH MOLTEN SHAPES FALL FROM SENSE TO FORM FLOWERS WE CANíT SEE ADHERENT ADULT BORN NECESSITOUS AND SHAPED BY FACT A BOX SNAPS TO SPRAYED WOOD JOINED BY MOLTEN SHAPES COLLECTIONS ENCLOSURE CLOSER WHAT DO YOU ADD TO SING THINGS ADHERENT AND NECESSITOUS BY CHANCE SUNLESS IN COLORLESS PEACE SOVEREIGN SUBSIDING ONLY TO PARTITION TO RECALL FROZEN TRINKETS OF ECSTASY EVERYDAY THIS COLLECTION THIS COLLECTION EVERYDAY THE WAY APPEARANCE FREEZES A BALL A RAY FILL TIME WITH THESE ENCLOSURES DARKLING WHO WILL BREAK THEIR FRAME THIS PLEASURE TO ADD THINGS TO THINGS SUNLESS A STEALTHY DEPTH SUNNY HOLOCAUST ENDLESS BETRAY THE MAINE ARTIST STAGE NAME OF HISTORY VOYAGE HALTS THE NOT YET PARTITIONED SUNLESS STEALTH OF SPRAY TIME AWAY AND TIME AWRY AGAIN DECUSSATION FRAME UNHIDDEN EMPIRE PROMINENT STAR PLAGUE LANDSCAPE WORK RECEDED OR HERE HILL-LIKE THAT NO LIGHT WILL REFLECT A STRUGGLE OF TIME TO FILL A COLORLESS MIND WITHOUT OUR SLEEVELESS SHAPES
For Ozu
Lingering too long in a scene a scene a seeing so good for the moment only only winding-up the drive of these bikes to clock a fruit at its last twist a life a life at its last point

A life at at its last life stay this staying this long for me here here you adhere to to this time

A clock a cloak the apple at the apple at the edge of a life a knife a knife spins to this and we and he cries tears for a life a life burnt they say from both ends whether time has them or if it has edges

It agrees to stay the camera my eye with this seen if the apple has its time a life I will agree this is shared a ring a ring finger now attending an end now

Two hands together he cries an edge and signs as skin curls and life twists burnt

Birfurcates an event an event of cutting an event revert revert cut revert revert cut to renew eyes to renew time eyes a place a place on this line he stops he he stops to skin listen the the sound the sound of sound of waves in the evening humming humdrum life

Entering the moment of these hands fortune it agrees an eye to time the trains to cuts to cuts as trucks trucks trucks and forks

Forks in this future its time if it has edges one can not say then what time is two hands clasped two eyes shut slightly heads bow briefly at each stair

One can not say exactly what time trains leave or shapes from their perch from another drift the pitch of languid motion cuts wonít dare impede that is they wonít stop any from living

Each shot then an end of a life some sort of life with edges mounting dunes and the sea a sea of leaving bifurcating splendidly clear an enduring the during of waves no film will stop only leave with credits







from Ing Ear
for Jalal Toufic In the woods losing the name you would be called by or in the mirror presupposing no life of the name that would guide you through this night that must be left to other hands To other hands heavy fire loss of boundaries and gaining gaining upon the image directly a beam a beam from the bulb of our guided hands Guide of our hands the illusory plucked petals of this time resurrect me resurrect a name without boundaries and magic magic of those progressive reversals of springtime Gaining the horse upon the sound of the gulls tape displaces all voices images of a voice out of synch the small atavisms of these ways Presupposing Chernobyl Sarajevo Iraq Palestine Sudan Rwanda Hiroshima Auschwitz Armenia Misinterpolations taken as amnesia The latest life of the dome Of the dome accruing to it the life of the countryside Of olives figs milk and tea Of the last taste of honey in a collective time Stutter the passage of this recurrence Points on a shifting interval of travel Guide of our hands the illusory plucked petals Every moment is initial of this springtime A renewed assuming of names For how long the guide the guide of our hands through the streets these bombs no longer touch the distance of our ways they must be a unity of form to have remained alive for so long Bring me to my name again forgiving that I have been gone from myself a little monument of a larger unity I hope these bombs wonít touch His bleeding feet the animal when we arrive has called to me to bring it food a project of these calls across these desert walls their functions A forum of gravity be a unity of form the animal among the traces of these walls what gazes is always of ourselves lately we have come to guide the guide But let the aura be the means of our geography therefore our memory multiplicities declaring no light has yet arrived But let the aura be a light in the world again after none could be called by their true names in truth the stones failed us so we kicked them down substituting for each petal a similar blindness of sense It arrives to arrive the beloved not merely loved a bead of these ways in caravan to see a wall as a prism hope of new phases She is walking away from me in that garden where the guards are guarded and donít speak to demonstrate the violence of an image she walks away with a horse it turns three times slowed by the edit on a beach before the broken waves She walks away from me from me so I may see her name as a back turned an injunction to turn to guide the guide back Back to me if we could be a name for nothing for nothing presents this green of a name of petals what virtue in reverse reversing power a pride of fathers plucked kingdom within a kingdom inaugural Here to hear to hear this violence not seen seizes the silence of a violent naming Lear of a drama of power silent again after images in paradise the lines went spoken To speak those lines those lines weep of which we are nothing an argument demonstrates the waves of which we are an unsaying of these horses waves ways drawn away after the storm no violence can accomplish this an unmaking of forces in a painterly universe the frames of nothing the titles record those horses waves turning spray spray no books with no letters no pages pages became undeveloped no violence can accomplish this unsaying to hear those lines those lines wink drawn away after this blank space perhaps no one truly listens anymore an argument in silence demonstrates the waves non-action of her point non-action in a painterly universe points a universe of the gaze the horse draws away non-action in a painterly universe a field for the high and forgotten surviving the forgetting of children surviving the forgetting of these lines generation does / generation does not non-action in a painterly verse obverse of the gaze shade towards forgetting a field weep for the forgetting forgetting of those lines that weep generation unsays its lines this horse breaks into its reverse so can the waves waves silent violence heard for every new love playful spraying a book longing to be heard and therefore seen seen and therefore heard substitute these lines these lines these petals for me substitute these petals these lines these petals these lines for me In a blank time